Sleepy, she lay the list down on her Bible on the nightstand. Reaching over to turn off the light, her eyes fell on the card still propped against the base of her lamp. Officer James V. Jarrett.
She was so confused over the change in his behavior toward her. Before Monday, she might have thought he was a good candidate for their new list, but now she wasn't so sure.
She switched off the lamp and almost turned away, when she realized she could still see his name in the blue glow from the oversized numbers on her alarm clock. She stared at the tiny letters as though the key to his strange behavior might be written there. Victor, not James. Trevor had called him Vic. Vic Jarrett. No, she preferred Victor. Victor Jarrett. Victor and Juliette. Juliette Jarrett.
"James and Juliette Jarrett? Oh no!" She grabbed a pillow and put it over her face.
But the more the names played over in her mind, the more musical they sounded to her ears.
IT WAS MONDAY AGAIN, and she couldn't believe how nice it was to have the evening to herself. Juliette had gone to the grocery store on her way home from work and stopped at her favorite little Italian bistro for take-out dinner. She showered, changed into her pajamas and robe, and passed the mirror with only a wave and a light-hearted "Hello, Ducky!" in her best cockney imitation. Her plans included relaxing, eating, watching a little television, and whatever else she could do without moving off the sofa.
Juliette sat down and pulled her tray toward her. On it was her dinner of tortellini pasta in a sun-dried tomato sauce, a chilled bottle of sparkling water, and a huge square of Tiramisu. She was starving.
She unfolded her napkin, picked up her fork, and jumped when someone knocked on her door. She wasn't expecting anyone, and having discovered a darling new BBC sitcom that started in ten minutes, she hoped it was just a case of a wrong address, although she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to visit Mrs. Cork.
Through the peephole, under the glow of her porch light, she saw a man. He had a freshly-scrubbed look about him, and was obviously nervous; he kept tugging at the tie around his neck and repeatedly smoothing his already slicked-back hair.
"Oh no," Juliette moaned, her thoughts creating a traffic jam inside her head. Was there a Monday ManDate scheduled for today after all? Had she agreed to this? And would he go away if she just ignored him?
No, that would be cruel to the poor man standing outside. Opting for honesty, she opened the door. His uncomprehending look made her feel terrible, but she squared her shoulders and smiled up at him.
"Hello," she said, her voice already laced with apology.
He tugged on his tie and smoothed his hair. "Hello." He cleared his throat. "I'm Tim Larsen. Uh, are you..." he cleared his throat again. "Are you Juliette?" His eyes darted over to the house numbers on the plaque beside her door.
"I am." She smiled weakly, wishing for an easy way out for both of them. "Are you a friend of Renata's?" Wishing for an easy way to mortally wound Renata, too.
"Uh, Renata, yes. And John."
"I'm so sorry, Tim. I'm afraid there's been a mix-up. I wasn't expecting you tonight."
"You weren't expecting me?" He was a big man, quite a bit taller than she was, and he looked nice, albeit ill at ease, in his black pants and pale blue shirt. He wore a lightweight tweed sports coat that made him look almost professorial, but the tie seemed more like a noose than a fashion accessory as he stuck his finger over the knot at his throat and tugged.
"Not tonight, no." She stepped away from the door and indicated her outfit.
"I see."
"I'm sorry," she apologized again. She saw movement at the corner of her eye, and glanced over to see Mrs. Cork come out her front door carrying her dog. She didn't put the fluff-ball down as she usually did, but instead, stood there with her free hand on her hip, watching them. She was not smiling, and she did not return Juliette's polite little wave.
Tim cleared his throat again. "Uh, we have dinner reservations at seven."
"Oh dear. Right. Reservations." What could she say? This was terrible.
"Did I come early? Would you like me to wait?" He reached inside his coat and withdrew a cell phone. "I can call the restaurant and move the reservation back."
"No, Tim." She held up a hand to stop him and apologized yet again. "I'm so sorry. Somehow, somewhere along the line, wires got crossed. I—I'm not prepared to go anywhere tonight."
He had the disconcerting tendency to watch her lips when she spoke, and she resisted the urge to cover her mouth with her hand.
"Okay. I see." She couldn't be certain, but she thought she heard a trace of relief behind the disappointment in his voice. They both stood there for a few more awkward moments, Mrs. Cork unabashedly glaring at them.
In her head, Gia was back with her crickets.
"Well. Uh, I'm...going to go then." He wasn't quite mumbling, but she had to lean forward to hear him. "I'm sorry to have intruded on you like this."
"You didn't intrude. It was just a mix-up." Everything she said sounded placating, rather than comforting.
"Right. A mix-up. Okay." He nodded. "Uh, goodnight." And he turned and made his way down the steps and out to the street where a large black truck was parked. She knew nothing about trucks, but despite its shiny paint job, it looked old, maybe a classic, with its rounded hood and wheel wells, its narrow bed.
She waited until he pulled away before she went back inside, waving once more at her disgruntled neighbor. She wasn't surprised when the woman only scowled in return.
While she waited for her pasta to reheat, she dialed Renata's number. Her sister answered the phone in a distracted manner, obviously in the middle of some family activity.
"Hey, Ren. Do you know a guy named Tim Larsen?"
"Yes. He's one of John's friends. A hunting buddy. How do you—" Then she gasped. "Oh no!"
"Oh yes. He just left my house."
"Oh no!" Renata repeated. "I completely forgot to call him and cancel." She shushed a kid who was trying to get her attention. "What did you say to him?"
"I just told him it was all a misunderstanding. Don't worry. I didn't blame you."
"I can't believe I did that. I need to call him." Renata sounded genuinely worried.
"It's all right, Ren. He'll be fine, I'm sure. He's probably relieved, now that he's seen me in my pajamas." She braced the phone between her shoulder and ear as she pulled her food out of the microwave.
"I told him he had to wear a tie. Did he?"
"He did. But anyone could tell he hated it." Juliette set her hot plate on the tray, turned the television on but kept it muted, and sat down on the edge of the sofa to finish the conversation while the opening credits of her show flashed soundlessly across the screen in front of her. "You should have called him, Ren."
"I know. I blew it. Poor Tim." She paused a moment, then asked, "Are you sure you don't want to go out—"
"No, Renata. Don't even think about it."
A heaviness settled around her shoulders. Why did her sister seem so insensitive to others? Why did she feel like she had to control everyone?
What about her faith? Where did that come into play with her control issues? Juliette always struggled to line up her sister's actions and attitudes with the way her friend, Sharon lived. It was one of the reasons Juliette had such a hard time trusting God; how could He be so different to different people?
Perhaps, though, Renata didn't have it right, in spite of her insistence that she did. Juliette shook her head. It was all still a little confusing to her, this whole Christianity thing, and she certainly wasn't the one to judge her sister who'd been a believer for years.
Another knock interrupted her thoughts. Now what? She got up and headed back to the door, dreading the thought that Tim might have returned.
Officer Jarrett? What was he doing here?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
”GOOD EVENING, MS. GUSTAFSON." The officer stood on her front porch looking better than anything her imagination had drummed up over the la
st week. His hair was uncharacteristically messy tonight, as though he'd run his fingers through it, and the intense look in his eyes made her toes curl inside her socks.
"Officer Jarrett," she said flatly, glad he couldn't read her thoughts.
"We've received reports of suspicious activity in the neighborhood, and I'm here to investigate." He was very serious.
"Really? Should I be worried?"
"I suppose that depends on what's going on. Are you alone?"
"I—I'm sorry? I don't understand."
"Are you alone, Ms. Gustafson?" he repeated, a little louder, a little slower, as though she was hard of hearing, or slightly dense. "Do you have company?" His gaze darted past her shoulder.
"No. It's just me." She reached back and pulled the door nearly closed behind her, blocking his view into her home. She didn't like the way he was speaking to her, and still feeling a little bruised from his behavior last week, she wasn't going to stand for it again. "What exactly can I do for you?"
He ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Have you had any unwanted or unsolicited visitors lately?"
"What? No." The memory of Mike trying to push through her front door a few weeks ago intruded on her thoughts, but she didn't think that was any of this man's business.
"Are you certain?" His tone irked her.
"I think I would know." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mrs. Cork's partially-opened front door and the woman's silhouette back-lit from inside. The dog was yapping away from somewhere behind her. Nosy old poop. Then another thought suddenly took shape.
"Wait. Are you here because of her?" She tipped her head toward her neighbor's place. "Did she call you about this supposed suspicious activity?"
He didn't respond.
"Look at her, Officer. Which one of us is behaving more suspiciously?" It had to be. It just had to be! "I don't know how long you've been a policeman, but I'm sure you know about busy-bodies, nosy neighbors, and meddling gossips. Well, that," she pointed with an arm fully extended. "Is a prime example of all of the above." She grimaced with satisfaction as Mrs. Cork's door closed abruptly and the dog went silent.
"What is she complaining about? Is that why you were here last week? Because of her?" Her eyes got wide as she put two and two together, and she gasped indignantly, then glared at him with squinted eyes. "You were extremely rude to me that night. You were expecting something very different than what you found, weren't you? Suspicious activity? Ooh!" She stomped her foot. Then her eyes got wider. Her mind was working overtime now, and the pieces were falling into place like the inner workings of a combination lock. "Wait! This is the third or fourth time you've been by to check on me now. It was her all along, wasn't it? She's been calling the police on me!"
He held up a hand, interrupting her rant. "A call from one neighbor asking questions about your integrity is not enough to send an office—"
"Questions about my integrity?" Her voice was rising along with her heart rate and her color, she was certain.
"Please calm down, Ms. Gustafson."
"Calm down?" The condescending jerk! "I'd like to know what I've done to make my neighbor complain!"
When he raised a hand in a calming gesture, she had to resist the urge to smack it away. "In fact, since you're here, maybe I should file a complaint of my own. That woman lets her dog out front without a leash, and I know there's a leash law in this town. Then she stands there and watches as the little rat comes over here and dumps on my lawn. She has yet to pick up one pile in the four years I've been living here. Why don't you go harass her?" She knew she sounded vindictive and petty, but she couldn't help it. Something about the way he stood there, watching her come unglued, made her want to lash out at him.
Officer Jarrett referred to his notes again, ignoring her tirade. "The caller," he said, emphasizing the term as though he thought he could convince her of its anonymity. "Reports that there has been a string of strange men in the neighborhood over the last several weeks."
"Strange men? Strange men?" She felt like a parrot. "Could you be more specific? Were they, by any chance, standing on my front porch, holding flowers?" Apparently, Mrs. Cork spent way too much time standing on her own front porch.
"Do you know anything about strange men in the neighborhood?"
"Oh, Officer." She smacked a palm to her forehead, then spoke in a syrupy tone. " I can explain. You see, I've been trying out a new man every Monday night, hoping to find myself a husband." Amazed at how ridiculous the truth actually sounded, she continued, oozing sarcasm with every syllable. "Well, all those men have worn me out, and I needed a rest. I had to send tonight's man away, poor thing." She flapped her hand in the air as if shooing off a fly. "It's just little ol' me and a quiet evening of rest and recovery."
He said nothing, just studied her, his expression unreadable. Juliette could only imagine what was going through his head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. Her shoulders sagged and she leaned her head back against the door jamb, closing her eyes.
"What more do you want from me, Officer Jarrett? It's the truth, okay?" She ran a hand through her untidy hair and opened her eyes to peer up at him, but his head was down now, and his face was in shadows. "My sisters thought I was turning into a weird old maid. They've been setting me up with blind dates over the last couple of weeks. Let's just say it hasn't gone well, not even the night Trevor took me out. But that wasn't his fault." She kicked the edge of her doormat in frustration. "No, it was because you showed up and insisted on making me feel like a criminal." She turned away to look down the street where she'd last seen Trevor riding off into the night. She wished with all her heart she could be on the back of that bike at this very moment, instead of talking to this insufferable man.
When he still didn't speak, she continued, no longer caring what he thought of her. "I spent way too much time last week trying to figure out what I'd done to make you treat me so unkindly. I get it now. I know your type only too well. I'm just a silly little woman to you, so it's okay for you to think the absolute worst of me. I'm not even worth you giving me the benefit of the doubt, am I?"
Straightening, she brought her gaze back up to meet his. His eyes were still in shadows, but his brow was creased, his mouth tight. "Well, Officer, it's over. No more men. No more blind dates. In fact, no more dates, period. Finished. Done. The end. The fat lady sang, okay? Tonight was just a misunderstanding. My sister forgot to call the next guy on the list and he showed up." She snorted and put a hand up to cover her eyes that were suddenly prickling with unshed tears. "And why, oh why, am I telling you this? I sound as pathetic as you think I am."
Spent, her anger having boiled over and evaporated, she asked, "Are you going to arrest me? Or can I go back to my take-out pasta-for-one that's already been microwaved twice?" She rolled her eyes. "At this point, I'll probably die of radiation poisoning before my sisters find me a husband."
Then he grinned. Oh, there it was; that beautiful, heart-stopping smile.
No! She would not respond to it! She glared instead at Mrs. Cork's front porch, wondering if the woman could feel her eyes burning her flesh through the closed door.
"Really? Is all that true?" His voice was surprisingly gentle, and she could hear no trace of mockery in it.
She stood in her doorway, embarrassed by her lack of self-control, demoralized by the circumstances, and pathetic by her own admission. "Would it be possible for anyone to make something like that up?"
"I don't know," he chuckled. "I hear some pretty good stories in my line of work. In fact, I recently pulled over a lady who claimed she was just pretending to be a blind duck driving."
He was trying to be kind. Juliette snorted. "I bet she cried like a baby when that excuse didn't work."
"She did." He nodded sagely. "I must admit, that was one of the more terrifying encounters I've had. I even considered therapy after that."
"I bet. She sounds crazy."
Victor cleared his thro
at. Twice. "My friend said something like that about her. He called her wild." Juliette recoiled at the thought of Trevor talking badly about her. Victor must have noticed her flinch, because he reached out as if to touch her arm, then withdrew his hand quickly. "But in a good way. He calls his bike wild, his parents wild; he even calls God wild."
Juliette smiled up at him in relief, glad he'd explained. "Really? Well, I guess she doesn't sound so bad, after all."
"No. She doesn't sound so bad, after all," he echoed her words, his tone making her blush. "Ms. Gustafson, I owe you an apology." He actually dropped his gaze and stared at his toes for a few moments. He spoke quietly, almost sheepishly. "I have been imagining all sorts of things about you, and apparently, none of it's true. I don't know why I let my thoughts get away from me." He looked up, and waited until she met his gaze again. "My job doesn't allow for assumptions, or snap judgments, yet that's exactly what I've done. Then again," he grinned. "I've never come across someone quite like you before."
She caught herself staring at his mouth the same way Tim Larsen had stared at hers, and she blinked, then darted her eyes over to Mrs. Cork's for something else to look at.
"All kidding aside, I'm sorry. It sounds like you've had quite a month, and I certainly haven't helped. Will you forgive me?" He held out his hand, palm up, as though offering more than just a handshake.
She felt the rush all over again as she placed her hand in his. Solid and gentle, secure and warm, it was all she could do not to close her eyes and sigh. She pulled away as quickly as she could without being rude, uncomfortable by her lack of restraint. She crossed her arms, hugging herself, unaccountably shy now. "I'm sorry, too. I was very rude to you tonight. I think I even stomped my foot at you."
"You did." He chuckled. "Although that was pretty wild."
If she didn't know any better, she might think he was flirting with her. The notion sent a tingle all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she quickly changed the subject.
Juliette and the Monday ManDates Page 13